


Fission

by BladedFeather



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Eventual Fluff, First Meetings, Mild Gore, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-13 19:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18037448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladedFeather/pseuds/BladedFeather
Summary: Mirage is starting to realize he’s probably going to die, again.





	1. Wingman

**Author's Note:**

> *Finger Guns* It's me, and I'm here with yet ANOTHER pairing to write about.
> 
> I have lots of theories about how the Apex Games capitalize off of their victors while keeping it interesting and brutal enough for an audience that would watch this kind of thing. Let's explore that shall we?

Mirage has only ever died once before, and it wasn’t an experience he remembers fondly. 

Dying in the ring felt like getting your atoms pulled apart. 

One by one. 

Tiny, nuclear explosions erupting in every single cell. 

Basically, it fucking sucked. 

Lying face down in the dirt, blood seeping through his fingers as he tries to hold in his organs, Mirage groans theatrically.

He really doesn’t want to go through that again.

The blinding agony all leads to blacking out and then waking up in an undisclosed location, completely unharmed with an Apex official shining a flashlight directly in your corneas. It’s a little embarrassing. 

At present, Mirage is starting to realize that he’s probably going to die, again. 

He shifts slightly, biting his tongue to hold in a scream. 

The shotgun blast had just grazed him, lighting up the right side of his back like fire. 

The bullets from the Devotion though? Oh those he’d caught full on. Because of course he had. 

With trepidation he moves so he can look down, and pales a little at the amount of blood that has already pooled from the holes the LMG rounds had punched into his stomach.

Before he can contemplate how long it’ll take to bleed out at this rate, a hand roughly grabs his shoulder, forcefully flipping him onto his back.

Mirage stares up in a mixture of pain and disgust at the merc who shot him. The guy’s get up is ridiculous, with neon teddy bear stickers over every square inch of his armor. 

The clown face-paint isn’t all that great either. 

“Gotcha pretty boy. No more tricks!” The merc sneers in Mirage’s face. 

Mirage opens his mouth to deliver a witty comeback, but it morphs into a scream as the merc shoves the barrel of his gun into the wound.

For a moment, Mirage thinks he’s going to black out. The pain is too big, it’s too much. 

In his agony filled delirium, he hears an ethereal howl. 

Mirage swims out of the comfortable black to which he'd descended when he hears a wet _thwack_ from somewhere above him. 

He opens his eyes just in time to watch the merc slump to the ground. 

A knife is embedded in his right eye. 

It’s satisfying, but doesn’t stop the pain of his life force draining away. 

What does is the medical syringe plunged into his chest. 

He gasps sharply at the near immediate reduction in pain, the Games’ weird healing tech knitting his flesh back together in seconds. 

His savior kneels beside him, resting a hand lightly next to his rapidly healing wounds,

“It was not your time.”

Mirage stares up at them in wonder.


	2. Mozambique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow and steady wins the race, and it's how I'm going to write this fic. Chapter length should pick up here soon, as I just got done traveling for 38 hours. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm a bloodhound main, and nothing is more satisfying than hunting down an unsuspecting enemy. Unfortunately though, this means I frequently leave behind my confused teammates. Sorry guys. 
> 
> Alternate Title for this Fic: Mirage and the Terrible Horrible no Good **Very Bad** Day.

As Mirage continues to gape up at his long lost teammate, he has a brief flashback to the start of the match, and his botched drop. 

Dropping in the Apex Games was something of an adrenaline filled science. 

Well, that's what the commercials liked to portray it as. They always showed the competitors cool and confident, the wind from the drop making them look extra dramatic. 

Mirage found out in his first game that it was more like having a rocket strapped to your ass and then being shoved out of a plane.

It was a pretty painless experience for the most part though, the Games’ jump jets doing all of the work. 

Technology was amazing, but every now and then, something went wrong. 

Which is how Mirage managed to greet his team, jump out of the plane, and then drop like a stone. 

He panicked, and hit every button he could find. Eventually the damn thing sputtered to life, stopping his mad fall just in time for him to hit a roof and bounce onto the ground. 

Smack in front of a bloodthirsty lunatic. 

A hand is placed in his field of view, snapping him out of his reverie.

He takes it sheepishly, levering himself back onto his feet. The pain in his stomach is now nothing but a dull ache. 

“I definitely owe you dinner for that one, thanks.” 

His teammate merely tilts their head, a striking resemblance to the little crow they keep with them. 

Mirage isn’t surprised that the legendary Bloodhound managed to find him, just that they actually jumped in to save him.

They were a mystery, a damn good fighter, and a four time Apex Games champion.

Mirage remembers being somewhat excited after finding out they were going to be in the same squad. Right before he managed to fuck up his drop and lose both teammates.

Bloodhound gestures empathetically to where the merc had fallen, the man's loot scattered haphazardly around where his body used to be. 

Mirage takes the hint, gathering weapons and ammo. The Devotion is a comforting weight in his hands. He pats it fondly,

“Don’t worry girl, no hard feelings.” 

Bloodhound retrieves their knife, wiping the blood off of it in a way that can only be described as tender. 

They check the area briefly, making sure that the clown-guy had been alone before preparing to head out. 

“We will head to market. Pathfinder has discovered it is the closest location to us that will fall within the next ring. He is waiting for us a short distance ahead.” Bloodhound seems to confer with their crow before lifting their arm and sending the bird heavenward. They start walking in the direction of market without looking back. 

Mirage raises his eyebrows at their back, but shrugs, a little smile on his face. 

Whistling as he starts to follow his teammate, he hopes that a bad start leads to a good end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love everyone!


	3. Hemlok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So...I started a writing sideblog. If any of you really like this fic, or my writing, or this pairing, _please_ feel free to hit me up on my new [sideblog](https://bam-boozles.tumblr.com/).I'll take requests or answer questions about any of my fics!)

Luckily, it doesn’t get worse. 

It gets _boring_. 

Mirage feels it itching at him twenty minutes into the walk to market. 

He holsters his weapon, stretching his arms over his head with a groan. 

“You know, for a high-stakes blood-sport, there sure is a lot of doing _nothing_ in these games,” Mirage starts, eager to break the silence.”I’d say most of my other games were just collecting gear, and then walking. So much walking.”

Bloodhound does not seem to hear him, just continues walking steadily forward.

Mirage isn’t fazed. He’s used to people ignoring him. 

“You know I’ve never watched a game? Didn’t want to spoil the experience for myself before I’d participated. Now? It’s just not the same. Can’t watch stuff like this. I get too caught up in thinking about what I could’ve done better, or what I would’ve done differently.” Mirage can feel sand seeping into his boots, he contemplates if he can shake them out without Bloodhound leaving him, “I’m just saying, I know they say they broadcast the games in real time, but they have to be doing some sneaky editing. I bet no one wants to watch this part, the travel, the tedium. I mean come on, where’s the explosions? The excitement?” 

“Excitement is not always something to wish for. I would’ve thought you would know that, considering the way we met.” 

Mirage looks up from where he’s dumping sand out of his left boot, startled that the hunter bothered to answer him. 

For a moment, he’s got nothing to say. 

Sheepishly he puts his boot back on, walking quickly to catch up with his teammate. 

Bloodhound simply tilts their head at him again, hand resting on the hilt of their knife. 

“Well uh. I mean, you know. That’s not really what I meant. I don’t _want_ to be in firefights the whole time I just…” Mirage trails off, not really knowing how to explain. 

Bloodhound continues walking, though it seems they take mercy on him.

“I also have little interest in watching the games.”

Mirage raises his eyebrows, “Why?”

“I would much rather be participating.” 

There is no menace, no sadistic glee, just a matter-of-fact statement. 

That doesn’t stop a slight chill from running down Mirage’s spine. 

There is something about Bloodhound. 

Something that makes the primal parts of Mirage’s brain scream _**danger**_. 

Maybe it’s the way they move, the fact that their steps make almost no noise, regardless of the terrain. 

Mirage can’t figure it out. 

Whatever the reason, he’s just glad that they are on his side this time.

*

Market comes into their sight suddenly, rising in front of them as they crest a hill. 

The building is massive, and one that Mirage generally avoids. 

During his first game his team had dropped into the thick of market, and it had been a bloodbath. 

“You have all survived!” A cheerful yet synthetic voice calls from the roof of the sprawling complex.

Pathfinder waves from his elevated position. 

Mirage waves back, at a loss.

He’d heard a lot about the friendly robot. 

Before he can think on it a bullet whizzes into the robots chest.

It sizzles against the body armor he’d apparently found. 

“Friends, we are under attack.” The robot observes serenely, turning with his Flatline ready to fire. 

Mirage spots the other squad almost immediately. The one who shot Pathfinder is advancing on him rapidly, firing wildly. 

Mirage stumbles back a step as an arc star sails past his face, sinking into the ground a few feet away.

He dives to his left and the safety of a rock, sending one of his decoys running out.

Bloodhound in nowhere to be seen. 

Someone shoots at his decoy and it pings the locator on his HUD, giving him an idea of where the shots came from. 

Mirage waits a beat, and then starts spinning up his Devotion, throwing himself from out behind the rock. 

He fires as he slides, spotting one of their attackers and laying into them.

For brief second, the rounds sizzle off of their body armor. 

It doesn’t take long for the LMG to chew through their defenses, and there’s a shout as the bullets hit home. 

They go down, bright yellow hair stained with red at the tips. 

Mirage is reloading when someone jumps on his back. 

Yellow hair spins into his field of vision as he drops backwards, hoping to dislodge whoever had decided to ride him like a pony.

They wrestle with one another for a moment, and Mirage eventually gets the upper hand, staring down at an older woman.

A mirror image of the person he’d just put down. 

It clicks just as the woman rears up, trying to headbutt him. 

She had a twin. 

Who Mirage had just shot. A lot. 

It explains the rage, he thinks, as he fights to remain in control of the struggling woman, his gun lying several feet away out of reach.

She manages to get a hand free, and promptly punches him in the face. 

Mirage’s head snaps back, blood pouring from his nose. 

He recovers in time to watch the woman pull at something on her armor, blood running down her temple and grinning crazily. 

Mirage realizes that she’s holding two grenades, pins pulled, just as he’s violently yanked backward by something. 

The heat of the explosion is enough to feel like his face is going to melt off.

Whatever had been yanking him back and up lets go, leaving him to land unceremoniously on his ass on the roof of market. 

Mirage looks up at Pathfinder, who is casually rewinding his grappling hook. 

“That was a close one. You would not have survived that explosion.” Pathfinder states brightly. He seems largely unharmed, and Mirage assumes that the twins' third teammate was taken care of. 

Mirage coughs slightly, the smell of burning flesh making his stomach turn, "Thanks for the save. Where’s Bloodhound?” He stands as he talks, dusting himself off and trying to maintain at least some of his dignity. 

Pathfinder simply shrugs at his question, jumping down to loot the two fallen enemies. 

Their wayward teammate reappears twenty minutes later, droplets of blood on their mask. 

“We were being followed.” They say calmly, setting down ammo and weapons. 

Pathfinder eagerly grabs what he needs, but Mirage is a little more hesitant. 

“So uh...are they still following us?” 

Bloodhound slowly looks up from where they are examining their Triple-Take,

“No.” 

The hair on the back of Mirage’s neck stands up. Goosebumps race down his arms. 

He ignores it.

“You could’ve told us what you were doing, there was another squad attacking us. We might have needed your help.” Mirage can’t hide that he’s a little irritated.

Bloodhound may be good at what they do but that doesn’t mean Mirage can’t be ticked about their lapse in teamwork and just...communication in general. 

“You both had it under control. I am confident in your skills.” 

The statement is sincere, and it does a great job of making Mirage feel like an asshole. 

Before he can dig himself a bigger hole Pathfinder speaks up, apparently unaffected by the pseudo-argument taking place, 

“I will go check the nearby beacon for the rings next location, you can wait for me here.” 

He doesn’t seem to be asking, and grapples away after a slight nod of understanding from Bloodhound. 

The hunter stands, surveying the area. 

“We should rest while we can. The ring will not grace us with another opportunity.” 

Mirage nods, and follows behind them as they head into Market. 

They lead Mirage to a more hidden part of the facility. 

Like most of the building, the room looks like it was a vendors stall at some point, though it is much smaller than its counterparts. 

Even though it’s cramped, it offers great sight lines of the various entrances and exits. 

They hunker down across from each other in the small space. Bloodhound crosses their legs, laying their gun across their lap. 

Mirage fidgets. 

Waiting is even worse than being bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are ready for that good ship content, because it's coming.


End file.
